


Unto Us A Boy Is Born

by FalconHonour



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2020-11-09 06:15:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20848844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FalconHonour/pseuds/FalconHonour
Summary: What if Sybil had had a twin brother? What if there had been four Crawley girls, not three? What if Mary had never been intended to marry Patrick? These interconnected one-shots are snapshots of a world where the answer to all three of these questions is yes. Enjoy!





	1. Beginnings (1894/5)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Which the twins make their entrance into the world and Robert and Cora's lives are never the same again.

_October 1894_

“Good news, Lord Grantham,” Dr Clarkson smiled as he entered the library with a quick half-bow, “I am delighted to say that all is proceeding exactly as we might hope with Lady Grantham.”

“Oh good,” Robert glanced up from his paper, before laying it aside and getting up to shake Clarkson by the hand, “I’m very pleased to hear that, Clarkson, old chap. I can admit now that I’ve been somewhat concerned about Lady Grantham. You’ll take a brandy, of course?” he added absently, turning away to pour two tumblers even as he spoke.

“Thank you,” Dr Clarkson nodded, reaching out to take the proffered glass before querying, “Concerned, My Lord?”

“Well… it’s only that I don’t remember Lady Grantham ever being this large and uncomfortable with Lady Mary or Lady Edith. Not so early on, at any rate.”

“Oh, but Lord Grantham, there’s a simple explanation for that. Lady Grantham has never been expecting twins before.”

Robert’s hand jolted at Dr Clarkson’s words. His brandy slopped over the sides of his glass, staining the front of his tweed waistcoat.

“Tw-Twins?” he stammered, “Are you sure?”

“Quite sure, Lord Grantham,” Dr Clarkson nodded, “Which means we can probably expect them in April, rather than May. Twins do often tend to come early.”

“Twins. Goodness.”

Robert dabbed ineffectually at himself with a handkerchief, before turning back to the decanter and refilling his glass. Having done so, he reached over to top up Dr Clarkson’s. When the other man murmured in slight protest, he shook his head.

“Nonsense, Clarkson, make it a double. Goodness knows you’ll need it. I fear we might be calling you here rather a lot more in the coming months.”

* * *

_St George’s Day 1895_

Cora sat leaning against half a dozen plump feather pillows, a baby wriggling in each arm.

Her lady’s maid, Wood, bustled about the room, tidying it quietly as Cora cooed to the little ones. The warm April sunshine spilled through the window, caressing the babies’ downy heads and tinting Cora’s cheeks with a gentle golden blush.

The peaceful moment was broken by sudden, rushed footsteps in the passage outside. Cora raised her head, listening for a moment.

“Lord Grantham,” she pronounced definitively, “Open the door for him, Wood, and then leave us. Go and see if Lady Rosamund needs anything doing for the wedding.”

“Yes, Milady,” Wood curtsied and melted away, her light tread the very epitome of a Lady’s Maid.

Cora smiled tiredly at her back, but Robert didn’t even notice her as he entered. His entire being was zeroing in on the baby Cora held in her right arm.

“A son. I have a son! Oh, Cora, darling, I am so very happy!”

He went to snatch the baby from her hold, but checked himself at the last moment, instead picking the child up as though he were made of glass.

He cradled him close, letting the wide, searching eyes rake over his face for several long seconds before he spoke.

“Hello, little man. I’m your Papa. I am very pleased to meet you at last, Viscount Downton.”

Then he leaned over and kissed Cora soundly.

“You’ve done it, darling. You’ve saved Downton. Again.”

Cora chuckled almost soundlessly, “I’m glad to hear it, Robert. After all, that is what you married me for.”

She hesitated, then reached up to place her free hand over Robert’s where it cradled their son’s – their _son’s! -_ head.

“I suppose we’ll call him what we always planned to, hmm?”

“Edward Robert. Edward Robert Crawley. Our little Ned.”

They looked at each other for an extended moment, the love in their locked gaze speaking louder than a thousand words.

A shriek ruptured their tenderness abruptly. Cora scoffed, amused.

“Oops. Someone else would clearly like to be introduced to her Papa too.”

She bent her head, rocking the baby in her left arm for a moment or two until the shrieking ceased, before looking back up at Robert.

“I’d like to call her Sybil, for my favourite cousin, if you don’t mind, Robert. After all, both the others have traditional Crawley names. It would be nice to have another Levinson name in the house.”

Robert hesitated for a moment, trying the name on his lips. “I don’t see why not. Sybil sounds English enough. We’ll get away with it. We’ll call her Sybil Cora, for the woman who has just made me the happiest man in the Empire.”

Cora blushed, “Robert!”

Before she could protest anymore, however, Robert leaned over and trapped her lips with his in another kiss, this one even deeper and longer. Taking advantage of the fact that not even his Mama would think to interrupt them, not here, not on this particular day, he lost himself in the taste of her lips and the scent of her breath mingling with hers, until, tired of not being the centre of attention anymore, both the babies started crying and forced him to break from her so that he could ring for Nanny.


	2. Homecomings (1902)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Robert comes home from South Africa, is greeted by his family, and meets his youngest daughter for the first time.

_Summer 1902_

Robert saw them before they saw him. Oh, they’d spotted the carriage easily enough, if Edith and Sybil’s shrieks were anything to go by, but the heavy half-doors were too tall for the children to see inside as they stood waiting on the gravel, and so Robert saw them before they saw him.

It was just as well, for it gave him a moment to absorb their growth. He’d been in South Africa a full two years, away from Downton a full half-year longer than that. Mary had been just short of her ninth birthday when he left and she was almost 12 now. And by the set of her dark head, very conscious of the fact that she was a young lady.

Nine-year-old Edith, too, had sprouted like a weed. She’d had her hair cut too – Robert could tell by the way the golden-brown waves he remembered were no longer waves, but full-on curls that sprang out of the ribbon that was meant to be constraining them. Having shrieked with excitement at the first sight of the carriage, she had flushed with embarrassment and was clearly trying to emulate Mary’s cool façade. Unfortunately, despite being only 19 months younger, she wasn’t quite old enough to carry it off the way her older sister did. The lines of her plump mouth just looked sulky.

Sybil and Ned, meanwhile, stood hand-in hand between Mary and Cora. Ned, his honey hair combed flat against his head, was taking his cue from his eldest sister, and holding himself stiffly still, head high, as befitted Viscount Downton welcoming his father home. Sybil, on the other hand, was bouncing on her toes, clearly just waiting to be able to throw herself into her Papa’s arms.

Sure enough, no sooner had Robert opened the carriage door than Sybil screamed, “Papa!” and threw herself across the gravel into his arms.

“Hello, Sybil,” he chuckled, catching her to him and tossing her in the air with her own momentum before pulling her down to his chest. She burrowed into him, breathing hard. He held her for long enough that he felt her shoulders relax before he pulled back away from her.

“Can I put you down so that I can say hello to Mama and your siblings, hmm? They’ve missed me too, you know.”

Sybil looked as though she wanted to protest, but a light cough from Cora recalled her to herself.

“Yes, Papa,” she said meekly, looking chastened. Robert’s heart clenched at the way her big brown eyes dropped, and he pulled her to his side again, giving her a little squeeze, before he let her go and turned to his son.

“Well, Officer Cadet Crawley? I left Downton in your hands when I embarked for South Africa. How do you report?”

“Everything shipshape and Bristol fashion, Sir!” Ned chirped, extending a hand to shake Robert’s before snapping into a salute.

Robert smiled and nodded, saluting his son in return, before kneeling and opening his arms to the boy. “Relieved of command, Officer Cadet Crawley. Come here, my boy. I’ve missed you.”

Ned needed no second urging. He ran into Robert’s arms and flung his own around his father’s neck.

“I’ve missed you, Papa,” he admitted in a whisper, before letting go and glancing up at Mary, “But you’d better say hello to Mary. She’s missed you more.”

Robert jolted at the words. When had the barely toddling boy he remembered become so mature and empathetic?

But he had no time to consider it, for no sooner had he begun to straighten than Mary, poise forgotten, was in his arms.

“Papa!” The word was choked, buried against his lapel. His lapel, goodness. Mary really had shot up while he was away.

He held his eldest daughter close without saying anything, knowing that, like Ned, she’d finally be letting herself go now that he was home and safe. From what he’d observed, and gleaned from Cora’s frequent letters, Ned had Rosamund’s colouring, much like Edith did, but he was much more like his Granny in temperament, as Mary was. It was hardly surprising the two children had acted so similarly, despite the difference in their ages.

Several long seconds passed before Mary pulled away and kissed his cheek, calm once more.

“Welcome home, Papa. You must tell us about the Coronation, when you have a chance.”

“I certainly will, Mary,” he promised, before turning to greet Edith, who clung to him in her turn.

Finally, he turned to Cora and the daughter he had never seen.

Robert had already embarked with his regiment at Liverpool when Cora had realised she was pregnant. In fact, he hadn’t found out at all until he’d landed in Cape Town to find a telegram waiting for him. By that point, of course, it was far too late to turn around. All he could do for the next two years was worry and regret not being there to help Cora through her pregnancy, particularly in the latter months, which she’d always found so hard.

The news of Lady Alexandra Violet Crawley’s birth in August 1900 had been a huge relief, but one that was quickly soured by realising he’d miss all the crucial milestones of the baby’s first year of life. Her first steps, her first words…

“Ally? Do you know who this is? Who’s in the photo in the Library?”

Cora’s soft, encouraging question brought Robert out of his reverie. She had her hand cupped around the little girl’s chin, holding her so that she was looking straight at Robert.

Alexandra – Ally – gurgled and half-held out her arms, as if she wanted to be held. Moments later, however, she snatched her arms back and stared hard at Robert.

“Don’t like you,” she said decidedly, “Don’t like you. Want Nanny.”

“Ally!” Cora exclaimed, “You don’t say things like that to Papa! He loves you and he’s been looking forward to meeting you. Can you wave at him nicely, please?”

Despite Cora’s coaxing, Ally was having none of it. She squirmed in Cora’s arms, whining and looking around for Nanny until the portly woman came forward and plucked her from Cora’s hold.

“My apologies, Lord Grantham, Sir,” she murmured, bobbing a curtsy, “Lady Alexandra picked up on the excitement this morning and wouldn’t go down for her nap. She’s probably tired. I’ll take her up now and she’ll no doubt be in a better mood later, if you’d care to slip up to the nursery after you’ve had your tea.”

“Thank you, Nanny,” Cora said quickly, recovering her usual equanimity with impressive speed. She obviously didn’t want anything to spoil Robert’s homecoming.

Without further ado, she leaned over and kissed Robert soundly, “Welcome home, dear. I’m sorry I couldn’t meet you in London. But Mama is coming for supper.”

“Good. And you needn’t worry about not coming to London. I didn’t open the house, not just for a few nights, but Rosamund and Marmaduke were fine hosts. Now, did someone say tea?”

“Yes, I sent for Mrs Patmore to prepare it the moment the girls saw your carriage coming up the drive. It should be in the library by now. And, as it’s a special occasion, I suggest we allow the older children to join us. All of them, just this once.”

“Can we, Papa? Oh, can we?”

As though Cora’s words had been magic, the children were suddenly around them again, clamouring to be allowed to do as their Mama suggested.

Robert paused, pretending to think, and then threw up his hands in mock surrender.

“Oh, very well, I suppose so. But only if you _walk _inside _quietly.”_

The children needed no second urging. Mary immediately took Ned’s hand, Sybil slipped her hand into Edith’s and they flanked him and Cora as she twined her arm around his and allowed him to escort her inside for the first time in thirty long months.

Carson, blessed, dependable Carson, threw the doors open for them without a word.

“Welcome Home, Milord,” he said gravely, as Robert passed him.

“Thank you, Carson. We’ll speak in the morning.”

“Very good, Milord.”

Those three words, so inconsequential, and yet so familiar, told Robert as nothing else had, that he had come home, that the horrors of South Africa were truly behind him now.

Smiling broadly, he walked into the library, surrounded by his family.


	3. Reconnecting I (Mary and Edith, 1902)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Robert reconnects with his eldest daughters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Split this into two, because it was getting awfully long and unwieldy. Also, I don't own Rudyard Kipling's Kim, but it had just been published at the time of this chapter, so it seemed a perfect book to use.

_1902_

The gardens did him good. They calmed him, settled his mind and racing heart after the nightmares. Robert had worked that out less than a week after coming home. As such, he had got into the habit of taking an early morning stroll before anyone else was up, except perhaps his youngest, who didn’t seem to be much of a sleeper, from what his valet had told him of Nanny’s grumbles in the servants’ hall.

Robert was coming back up to the house, his golden retriever Anubis trotting at his heels, when he ran into Lynch leading a bay Arab he didn’t recognise across the gravel.

“Good Morning, Lynch. That’s a fine horse you’ve got there, I must say. Who have you tacked it up for, so early in the morning?”

“Morning, milord,” Lynch tugged his forelock, “I’m just preparing to take Lady Mary for a canter. She often rides before lessons these days.”

“Lady Mary rides before lessons? And Nanny lets her?” Robert couldn’t hide his surprise.

“Yes, milord. Lady Grantham’s orders, apparently.”

“Oh, well then,” Robert paused, considering, “Give me the reins. Go and saddle Pericles for me and bring him round. Then go and get your breakfast. I’ll ride with Lady Mary this morning.”

“Yes, milord,” If Lynch was surprised by the order, he was too well-trained to show it. He passed the bay’s reins to Robert and disappeared.

Robert turned to the horse, “Hello. You are a beauty, aren’t you? Yes, you are,” he crooned, rubbing the long, dished face up and down as he spoke.

“Papa?” Mary’s astonished voice broke into his musings, “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing. Riding before lessons, Mary, really? When did this start?”

“While you were away, of course, Papa. Mama agreed to let me have an hour away from the nursery in the mornings in exchange for promising to be on my best behaviour in lessons,” Mary replied, just the slightest touch of acid in her voice.

Robert thought about chastising her for it, but then thought better of it. He’d been away too long and Mary was almost a young lady now. She’d not take kindly to her old Papa telling her off like a child.

He held up a hand placatingly, “If you say so. But where did you get such a fine horse? What happened to Jester?”

“Jester? Oh, Papa, you have been away a long time, haven’t you? I outgrew Jester ages ago. Sybil rides him now. As for Lady, Uncle Dickie gave her to me on my tenth birthday. He said I needed a new horse, if I was ever to be a horsewoman. And he was right. I’ve a much better seat than I did when you left, Papa. I’ve ridden almost every day since.”

“Have you now? Well, we’ll see about that. Come here.”

Robert held out his hand, and Mary descended the steps to join him. He lifted her into her saddle, though he had to suppress a grunt as he realised just how much heavier she was at eleven than she’d been at eight.

As she gathered her reins and patted Lady’s neck, Lynch came round the corner of the Abbey, leading Robert’s own grey, Pericles. Robert nodded at him, took the reins and swung himself up, “Thank you, Lynch.”

“Sir,” Lynch bowed and retreated.

Robert clicked his tongue to Pericles, tapped his thigh to tell Anubis he wanted him to follow and trotted away over the gravel, Mary at his side.

They rode in comfortable silence for a few moments.

“Her name’s Lady, is it?”

Robert wasn’t expecting Mary to colour at his question and glance down at her reins.

“I call her Lady. She’s Ladysmith, really. I named her after where you were stationed in South Africa.”

Never had such a simple sentence caused Robert so much pain. His heart clenched and he reached out to take his daughter’s hand.

“Oh, Mary.”

The air was thick with everything that remained unsaid between them. Eventually, Robert cleared his throat uncomfortably.

“You are a much better rider than you were. You’ve much better posture, a deeper seat. In fact, I’d say you look comfortable enough to follow the hunt this Christmas, if you want to.”

Robert kept his voice deliberately nonchalant. He glanced sideways to watch Mary’s reaction. He wasn’t disappointed. Her jaw dropped at his words and her dark eyes began to sparkle.

“Can I, Papa?! Truly?”

“If you can beat me in a race to the fallen tree on the hill, yes.”

The words were barely out of his mouth before Mary had dug her heels in and spurred Lady to a flying canter.

He gave her a few seconds, just far enough to make it sure she would win, and then leaned forward to give Pericles his head. Leaning over the saddle as the horse picked up speed, he followed Mary, his chuckles mingling with her joyous peals of laughter as they drifted back to him on the wind.

* * *

Being allowed to follow the hunt was all Mary could talk about when the children joined them after tea. Her enthusiasm was compelling, but after a while, it began to grate, especially since Robert had been the one to give her permission.

Surreptitiously, he rose, on the pretext of getting himself a second cup of tea, and drifted over to the window seat, where his second daughter, Edith, sat with her golden head buried in a book.

“What are you reading, Edith?” he asked, crouching down before her.

“Oh, yes, Papa. It’s called_ Kim. _It’s the new Kipling book.”

“Kipling, hmm? Well, he’s certainly popular. And are you enjoying it?”

“Oh, yes, Papa. It’s about the son of a poor Irish soldier who is brought up as an Indian until he is found by a chaplain and sent to an English school so that he can become a spy against the Russians.”

“Hmm, well.” Truthfully, Robert wasn’t quite sure that it sounded like the kind of book a young girl should be reading, but Edith was looking up at him so hopefully that he couldn’t bring himself to say so.

He sank down on to the window seat beside her.

“I used to read to you before I left for South Africa. Do you remember that?”

Edith’s eyes went wide in affront at his words.

“Of course I do, Papa! I was seven when you left, not a baby!”

“Of course, my apologies, darling.”

Robert hesitated. He half put a hand out.

“Would you like me to read to you now?”

Several long seconds passed. Edith looked up at him steadily, searching his face as though she was afraid he would withdraw the offer. At last, seemingly satisfied, she placed the book in his hand and shuffled a little closer to lean against his side.

Robert waited for her to get settled and then opened the book at her bookmark.

“_Very early in the morning the white tents came down and disappeared as the Mavericks took a side-road to Umballa. It did not skirt the resting-place, and Kim, trudging beside a baggage-cart under fire of comments from soldiers' wives, was not so confident as overnight. He discovered that he was closely watched—Father Victor on the one side, and Mr Bennett on the other_….”


	4. Reconnecting II (1902)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Robert bonds with his youngest three children.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the song Nanny sings to Ally doesn't scan. It is in fact a translation of a German children's song that my mother and grandparents used to sing to me when I was little, and which I in turn sang to my little cousins when they were old enough to enjoy it. It rhymes in German, I promise!

_1902_

Ned and Sybil only had lessons in the morning. Robert hadn't been sure what he made of that when he first found out. It was certainly a far less demanding curriculum than he remembered his being when he was a little boy. But then, he hadn't had to share a schoolroom with his little sister. With six years between them, he'd already been at Eton by the time Rosamund had been old enough to need a governess. Giving the twins the afternoon off gave Fraulein Kelder the chance to teach Mary and Edith things like deportment and flower arranging, something Ned would never need and which even Sybil was a few years away from needing to learn.

Besides, Robert couldn't deny that the twins having shorter lessons than the older two had at least one advantage. It meant he could devote an hour or so to them each day while Ally took her afternoon nap without Mary and Edith vying for his attention too.

Just then, he was watching Ned chase Sybil around the flowerbeds while smoking a cigar. He chuckled and clapped his hand against his thigh in appreciation as his daughter executed a particularly daring twist around the hollyhocks to evade her brother.

A thought occurred to him and he ground his cigar out beneath his heel.

"Ned?"

"Yes, Papa?"

"Has anyone ever shown you the maze?"

Ned stopped and cocked his head to one side.

"No. Mary and Edith play in it sometimes, if they've been especially good, but Mama says Sybil and I are too little."

"Nonsense. My father showed me the maze when I was your age. It's high time you learnt to find your way through it. Come on, I'll show you."

He beckoned and Ned came running over, Sybil at his heels. Robert took them both by the hand and led them down the garden, off the neatly manicured lawns and towards the edge of the copse, which, he suspected, was the furthest they were usually allowed to go in their play.

Keeping the copse on his left, he turned past the rose garden and proceeded to the edge of the maze. Once there, he stopped.

"Now, I want you both to listen to me very carefully. I'm going to let you into a secret that only the Crawleys know, all right?"

They nodded eagerly, Sybil's dark head bobbing in tandem with Ned's flaxen one.

"My grandfather tied little ribbons to the edge of the hedges to help Rosamund and I find our way out when we started playing in here. When there's a choice in which way to go, if a turn leads to a wall, it's marked with a black ribbon. If it will lead you out or to the centre, it's marked with a silver ribbon. But you have to be able to look very carefully to spot the ribbons, all right?"

If it were possible, they nodded even more eagerly. Robert chuckled and ruffled their hair.

"Go on then, let's see if you can find your way to the middle. I'll follow, you two can be the chief explorers and show me where we're going."

Sybil squealed and shot off.

"Sybil! Wait for me!" Ned shouted. He ran after her and Robert followed at a more sedate pace, keeping half an ear on their crashing path through the maze. He could already tell this was going to be a very happy afternoon.

* * *

There were a few brief hours each morning, when, with Ally's older siblings all engaged in lessons with Fraulein Kelder, she was Nanny's only charge, and therefore Queen of the nursery, Nanny and the nursemaid Carrie's attention solely on her.

From what Cora had told him, their strong-willed youngest revelled in those hours. As such, Robert thought it was probably a safe time to get to know his youngest daughter.

Two weeks after his return to Downton, Ally was the only one of his children who had yet to warm up to him. Despite his best efforts, she ignored him utterly when the children joined them after tea. She either clung to Cora, demanding that her mother play the piano to amuse her, or else she bossed the twins around as they played with dolls together, often wailing that they weren't playing Mamas and Papas properly.

Robert had woken up that morning determined to change that.

Which was why, after riding with Mary – their morning rides had become something of a habit this past week – and answering some letters to do with estate business over a late breakfast, he mounted the stairs to the nursery.

A pretty sight met his eyes as he put his head around the door. It was the middle of the morning and Nanny sat with her back to him, bouncing Ally on her knee and singing to her.

"_Bounce, bounce, little rider,  
If she falls, she screams.  
If she falls in the ditch the ravens will eat her,  
If she falls in the marsh, the rider goes _Splash!"

On the last word, Nanny tipped Ally backwards, eliciting giggles and squeals.

"Again, again, again!" Ally begged, as she was lifted back up again.

"Again, Lady Alexandra? We've been playing nothing else since your siblings went down for lessons. Wouldn't you rather play with your dolls now, hmm?"

Robert, though he couldn't see Nanny's face, was an adult, and could therefore hear the half-hidden note of exhausted exasperation in the portly woman's voice. Being a week short of her second birthday, Ally was too young to pick up on it. She shook her head fiercely.

"Ally play horse game, Nanny! Horse game!"

"Oh, all right, then. Once more. But only once. And then you need to play with your dolls for a few minutes while Carrie and I tidy the night nursery and sort your sisters' frocks for mending."

Nanny repeated the rhyme, Ally's brown eyes sparkling in glee as she was dropped toward the floor again.

"Again, again, again!"

"No, not this time, Lady Alexandra. I said once and I meant it. It's time to play with your dolls for me like a good girl. I know you're used to being played with, but Carrie and I have a lot to do this morning and I need you to learn to entertain yourself. Besides, I'm not sure I can manage another round. I'm not as young as I used to be."

Nanny placed Ally on the floor, patted her head and stood up.

The change in Ally was frighteningly swift. The moment Nanny's attention was no longer on her, her little face clouded over as she flushed with temper. She stamped her foot.

"No! No want dolls. Ally want horse game! Horse game!"

"Now, Lady Alexandra, you know we don't allow temper in this nursery. I want doesn't get."

Nanny spoke firmly, firmly enough that Robert knew Ned or Sybil or Edith would have capitulated. Unfortunately for Nanny, it seemed Ally was more like her oldest sister in character, for she pouted and stamped her foot again.

"Play horse game, Nanny!"

Robert couldn't help it, he laughed. Ally just looked so like he remembered Mary being at that age, when she was struggling to come to terms with what having a new baby sister meant.

Nanny and Ally both spun round to him. Nanny flushed and curtsied.

"Oh! Lord Grantham! Forgive me, I didn't see you there!"

Robert held up a hand to brush off her apology. That wasn't what he'd come for.

He knelt down, looking his youngest daughter in the eye.

"I could play the horse game with you, Ally, if Nanny's busy. I don't know how to play it, but I'm sure you could teach me. You must know it back to front, you're such a clever girl. What do you say, hmm? Do you want to teach me how to play the horse game?"

Ally, who had clearly been ramping up to scream her head off until she got what she wanted, paused at this unexpected development. She cocked her head to one side, seeming to size Robert up.

He gave her a few moments, then held out his arms. She hesitated a second or so longer, but the lure of a new playmate clearly won out, even if he wouldn't play the horse game properly.

She toddled over and held her arms up to him.

"Up, Papa. Up! Play!"

"Your wish is my command, Lady Alexandra," Robert bowed flamboyantly, as though he were a lowly page bowing and scraping before his Queen.

His mimicry had the desired effect. The last of Ally's barriers came down and she collapsed into helpless giggles as he carried her to the nursery window.


	5. Interlude: O'Brien (1904)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sarah O'Brien finds her feet as Cora's lady's maid and is horrified by how lenient she is towards her children.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first of some interludes from the downstairs staff, which will hopefully allow us some insight into the family dynamics from a different perspective. Say hello to Cora's new maid, one Sarah O'Brien.

_1904_

Sarah Alberta O'Brien, lady's maid to the Countess of Grantham.

_Lady's maid to the Countess of Grantham. _The words had a ring to them. They rang with the prestige they carried. Her new role was a huge step up from the one she had last had, as lady's maid to Lady Throckmorton of Coughton Court.

Sarah kept reminding herself of that. The words drummed through her head, reminding her why she had applied for the role, why she had accepted it in the first place. She heard them every time she found something she didn't like about her new place.

And three months into the job, there was already plenty she didn't like about it.

There was the remoteness of the place, for one thing. Oh, Coughton had been in the country too, but compared to Downton Abbey, it had been in the heart of civilisation, given its proximity to Birmingham. It had always been easy enough to get herself to and from the city on her days off. Now she had to content herself with a stroll into the village, or perhaps a drive into Ripon, if Lynch happened to be going that way anyway and could be minded to take her. And, given that it was a good hour's ride each way in the pony trap, it was hardly worth going on an afternoon off anyway.

The remoteness of the place might not have been so bad, Sarah supposed, if the other staff had been even remotely worth her time. But they weren't. As lady's maid to Lady Grantham, it was beneath her to talk to housemaids like Emma and Kate and Lucy. Not for her the girlish, giggling confidences they shared with each other, and with thirteen-year-old Anna, the new nursery maid, who had taken over from her sister Carrie when the latter decided to marry the dairy farmer's son who always brought the milk over. The only people Sarah could deign to speak to without demeaning herself were the valet, Mr Watson, the cook, Mrs Patmore, the housekeeper, Mrs Hughes, the butler, Mr Carson, Nanny, and on occasion, the first footman, Samuel.

That didn't seem like such a short list in theory, but in practice, Mrs Patmore was usually in the kitchen, terrorising the kitchen maids and Nanny was stuck in the nursery, tending to Viscount Downton and the young ladies. As for Mrs Hughes and Mr Carson, well, Mrs Hughes was too soft for Sarah's taste. She mothered the young girls under her charge in a way they had no right to be mothered, now that they had found themselves a place in service. They weren't children any more. Why should Mrs Hughes go out of her way to be kind to them, particularly Anna, with her winsome blue eyes and floating blond tresses? Mr Carson was no better. Oh, he didn't dote on the maids. It would never have occurred to him to do so. Maids were the housekeeper's remit, after all, not his. But he did dote on the family, and that, in Sarah's eyes, was almost worse.

Lord and Lady Grantham were human beings, just like the rest of them. They slept, breathed, ate and voided their bowels just the same way Sarah herself did. And yet, according to Mr Carson, they were almost to be regarded as demi-gods, whose slightest whim should never be questioned, simply because they had the good fortune to be born living on the other side of the green baize door. Sarah couldn't stand his sycophancy.

In Sarah's eyes, the butler was also a hypocrite. Charles Carson pretended to think the worlds of upstairs and down should never mix and scolded the other servants harshly if he thought they were getting too close to the family, yet everybody knew that the teenage Lady Mary had him wrapped around her little finger, that she had spent more than her fair share of time trotting around after him downstairs in years gone by.

Sarah didn't trust herself to keep her tongue in her head about this around Mr Carson, so she avoided him as much as possible. Which left her with only Samuel and Mr Watson to socialise with. Which was fine, as a rule – Mr Watson at least played a mean hand of cards – but it did mean her only female interaction was with Lady Grantham, who wasn't even English!

Oh, the Countess did her best to play the Lady of the Manor, Sarah supposed, but she was too naïve for her own good. Even after nearly twenty years in England, she'd never understood the complexities of the English social scene, not to the degree that Sarah did, and Sarah hadn't even been born into it! Not to mention that the woman was so empty-headed that she took Sarah's flatteries of her at face value and had the nerve to consider them friends, rather than seeing them as vain fripperies thrown her way because of her rank.

Sarah wasn't complaining about that, of course– it certainly made the Countess easier to manipulate – but she did think she might have respected her mistress somewhat more if the other woman had seen through her flattery even just occasionally.

And then there were the children. God, the children. Sarah might have complained about Lady Throckmorton in her time, but at least the woman knew how to run her home and how to keep the children out of sight and out of mind. Sarah had worked for the Throckmortons for nearly five years, and in all that time, had scarcely clapped eyes on the children.

That was most certainly not the case at Downton. Cora and Robert Crawley were doting parents, and they expected their staff to indulge their children just as much as they did. Lord Downton and Lady Sybil were always underfoot, chasing each other through the halls and laughing far more loudly than any nine-year-old Viscount and his twin sister had any right to do. September couldn't come quickly enough, as far as Sarah was concerned. It was high time Lord Downton learnt how a son of the Empire really ought to behave. A term or two at St Olave's in York ought to knock those damned high spirits right out of the boy.

If it had just been Lord Downton Lord and Lady Grantham had indulged, Sarah might have been able to forgive them for it, if only slightly. After all, Lady Grantham made no bones about how much she and her husband had longed for a boy to carry on the title. But it wasn't just Lord Downton. It was the girls as well. Each and every one of them was given far more leeway than any child ought to be. Sarah was even expected to dress Lady Mary and Lady Edith's hair, for crying out loud! Only for special occasions, but all the same. It was the principle of the thing. Lady Edith wasn't even in her teens yet, she didn't need her hair pinning up!

But Lady Edith had gone whining to her precious Mama about how unfair it was that Lady Mary got to do everything first, just because she was the eldest by nineteen months, and Lady Grantham had given in for the sake of a quiet life. She always did. Every one of her children could run rings around her, even Lady Alexandra, and she wasn't even four until the end of August!

Why, just the other night, Sarah had been dressing Lady Grantham for dinner with the Mertons, and Anna had come in, carrying Lady Alexandra.

The three-year-old had been whimpering and squirming for her Mama, who, although she should have sent her straight back up stairs as soon as look at her, simply shook her head fondly and took her on her knee.

"What are you still doing up, Ally? It's very late."

"I wanted you, Mama," Lady Alexandra chirped, "I missed you!"

"You only saw me at tea, Ally."

"That's ages ago!"

Lady Grantham had paused at that, "Well. I suppose it is to you. Very well, you can stay for a little while. But I need to get ready for dinner. Would you like to help me choose my jewels, hmm?

Lady Alexandra had nodded eagerly, and the Countess had perched her on a pouffe within reach of her dressing table, where she had sat swinging her legs for the next half-hour, eating her way through most of a box of sherbet lemons (she had definitely inherited her mother's sweet tooth) and changing her mind about what jewels Lady Grantham ought to wear at least half a dozen times. By the time she was satisfied, Lady Grantham had been wearing her third set of pearls – the rose ones – and the pink flower barrettes Lady Sybil had gifted her on her last birthday. She had also been half an hour late for dinner. Sarah had been forced to plead with her to remember that the Mertons would be waiting for her to make even an attempt to leave her daughter.

"Ally, I need to go now, and you need to go back to the nursery. You've been such a help, choosing my jewels for me. Off you run with Anna now."

Lady Grantham had kissed her youngest and tried to hand her back to the nursery maid, but Lady Alexandra had wailed, clutching her with sticky hands in a way that had made Sarah wince. She'd never get the sugar out of that chiffon.

"No, Mama, please. I want you, not Nanny and Anna. Please come up. Please. I want you!"

"Now, Ally, don't be silly. You're a big girl. You don't need me to put you to bed. Nanny and Anna will do it, just like they always do."

Lady Grantham had made a token attempt to pry her daughter off, but, only too aware that kicking up a fuss would get her what she wanted, Lady Alexandra had wailed piteously, refusing any attempts Anna made to take her. Not even a minute later, Lady Grantham had yielded, hefting her daughter on to her hip.

"Oh, all right. I'm already so late that I suppose a few more minutes won't make any difference now."

Lady Grantham had gone down to dinner almost an hour late that night. The Dowager had _not_ been pleased. And to make matters worse, Lady Alexandra had learnt that, if she created for long enough, her Mama would always let her escape the nursery and come down to her, no matter what time of day or night it was. She was in Lady Grantham's dressing room almost every night now, demanding songs and sweets and stories long after she should have been in bed, when Lady Grantham should have been dressing for dinner.

Sarah itched to slap the spoiled baby of the Crawley family every time she saw her or heard her wailing over some imagined slight or loss of attention, but she knew Lady Grantham would never stand for it. The Countess saw Lady Alexandra's craving for her time as adorable, as a phase her youngest daughter was going through and would grow out of sooner or later.

"In some ways, it's good for her, O'Brien," she had said only that morning, "Lady Alexandra is my last child and she will grow up faster than I would like. She'll have to learn to make choices about what she wears and how to handle a lady's maid someday. She may as well learn by watching me now, while she's interested and while she's too young to know she's learning at all."

Sarah had had to bite her tongue at that. Couldn't Lady Grantham see that Lady Alexandra was only using her time with her Mama to delay her bedtime, that she was learning nothing other than that the routines of the entire Abbey could be bent and shifted to revolve around her capricious three-year-old whims?

Sarah could, and she hated the child for it. Being in service was bad enough when everyone knew their place and stuck to it like glue. But at least Sarah had learnt how to make those rules work for her. It galled beyond belief that a child not even old enough for a governess got to throw the old rules out of the window, just because her mother was too soft to say no to her when she cried and wailed for her own way.

It was almost enough to make Sarah want to hand in her notice. But that would have meant losing the prestige that came with being a Countess's lady's maid, and Sarah had worked too hard to gain this position to throw it away over a spoiled toddler. So, instead, she scowled and plotted inwardly for the day she'd be able to take Lady Alexandra over her knee and give her a good dose of the slipper, the way the brat deserved.


	6. From Brother To Sister (1904)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Ned and Mary have a much-needed conversation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOOPS! I didn't realise how much time had passed since I updated this story! To make up for it, have a sweet bonding chapter between Ned and Mary...and the start of Mary's more blatant preference for Sybil among her sisters...

_August 1904_

Mary was sitting alone on the lawn, reading under the shade of a large monkey puzzle tree, when a shadow fell over her book.

She was about to groan and snap at Edith to go away, when Ned put a hand on her shoulder.

"Mary?"

"Yes, Ned?" She looked up, shading her eyes with her hand to see him against the glare of the August sunlight. To her shock, she realised he was alone. He hadn't been alone for much of the last month. Some time in early July, Sybil had suddenly realised that her brother wouldn't be at home after the August Bank Holidays, and had responded by deciding not to leave his side, as though she could ward off his impending departure by joining her twin to her at the hip in a way they hadn't been since they were very little.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Of course, little brother," Setting aside her book, Mary patted the grass at her side in an invitation to join her. She was surprised when, instead of sitting at her side, Ned sprawled on the grass and laid his fair head in her lap. He hadn't done that since Papa had come home from South Africa and he'd wanted to prove to the father he barely remembered that he was a big boy. Whatever he wanted to ask her must be very important.

She carded her fingers through his hair silently, waiting for him to speak.

"Will you look after Sybil for me?"

The words, when they came, were soft, uncertain. It took Mary a moment to process them. Look after Sybil? Why would she need to do that? Everyone knew Sybil could look after herself. But before she could answer, Ned twisted round in her lap, kneeling up to lock gazes with her pleadingly.

"_Please,_ Mary! You know how important I am to Sybil. I don't want to leave her on her own when I go to St Olave's next month. But she can't come with me, and well, Mama and Papa will do their best, but everyone knows you're Papa's favourite, and Ally is Mama's, so someone will have to look after Sybil. Will you do it? Please?"

The earnestness in Ned's voice tugged at Mary's heartstrings. For a moment, she wanted nothing more than to do as her baby brother asked her. But, at the same time, she knew herself well enough, even at thirteen, to know she wasn't particularly maternal. Ned was the one exception to her habitual impatience. Much though she hated admitting Edith was better than her at anything, it seemed to her that if Ned wanted someone to keep an eye on Sybil, he was probably better off asking their sister rather than her.

"Why me?" she asked gently, far more gently than she did for anyone else, reaching up to brush a stray strand of hair out of Ned's eyes, "Why not ask Edith? You know she'd do it for you."

"I know," Ned said simply, "But she's not my favourite big sister. You are."

Mary gasped at Ned's clear, heartfelt declaration. Oh, she'd always had an inkling that Ned had a preference for her over Edith – when the four of them had played together, back before she'd declared herself too old for the nursery games, when Ally was still a baby crying in the cradle, Ned had always picked her to be on his team over Edith, or asked her to read to him even though Edith was the one who preferred books to riding – but to hear him say it that baldly was another thing altogether.

She'd have died rather than admit it, but tears pricked at her eyes and she had to swallow hard as she looked her little brother in the eye and put her hand over his.

"If you want me to, I will."

"Promise?"

"On Lady, if you want me to," Mary swore, and Ned smiled for the first time since he'd found her. He knew as well as she how much her horse meant to her. He nodded, and she pushed herself from the ground, smiling down at him as she did so.

"Happy?" she asked quietly.

Rather than respond verbally, Ned simply threw his arms around her, squeezing her tight.

"Thank you, Mary," he whispered against her chest, and she nodded, dropping the lightest of kisses on the crown of his head.

"Come on. Nanny will be looking for us for tea." She tipped her head in the direction of the house, and Ned, bless him, didn't miss a beat at how stern she suddenly made her voice. He simply bent and tucked her book, long since forgotten, under his arm, before falling into step beside her.

The two of them made their way back to the house, their agreement hovering in the air between them like a shining, silken chord of harmony.


	7. Presentations (1909)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Mary is Presented at Court.

_March 1909_

"Lady Merton will take you into the Presence Chamber, and you must remember to let down your train. The ushers will spread it out for you, and then it's a case of waiting until they call your name. They'll call Lady Merton first, presenting you, and then your name. You'll go forward, make your Court curtsy, to the King first, who will kiss your forehead and bid you rise. Then its three steps to your left, another Court curtsy to Queen Alexandra, another to the Prince of Wales or any other members of the royal family who happen to be present, and back out of the room. Whatever you do, Mary, do not turn your back on any member of the Royal Family. You'll back out of the room until the doors shut in front of you, do you understand?"

"I know, Mama! You've only told me a dozen times!" Mary snapped, flushing with temper, "I do wish you'd remember I've been raised for this practically since I could walk! I always knew I'd have to make my curtsy to King Edward someday. I'm British; a daughter of the Empire."

"_Unlike you," _was the silent rejoinder that hung between Mary and her mother as the younger woman pressed her lips together, restraining her temper with an effort. Cora's eyes sparked at Mary's insolence, but she, too, pushed her displeasure aside, reminding herself that a debutante's presentation was the biggest day of her life, that, Mary, try though she might to hide it, was likely quaking with nerves inside.

"I know, my darling, I'm sorry. I just worry, because I want your special moment to be perfect. Call it a mother's prerogative. Forgive me," she soothed, reaching up to place a hand on Mary's cheek in an unusually tender gesture. It was a mark of Mary's uncertainty that she actually allowed the action. Usually, whenever Cora tried to dote on her oldest, Mary flinched away from it, calling her a sentimental American.

Cora knew better than to push her luck, however, so, barely a moment after she had placed her hand against Mary's flushed skin, she drew back, turning her attention to the headdress that lay on a stool in the corner.

"All right, then, let's try that again, but with the headdress this time. Let's see if you can keep your curtsy so steady that you don't even knock the Prince of Wales plume."

Recognising the olive branch for what it was, Mary nodded, and stood still so that her mother could pin the ostrich feather headpiece into place.

Before she could turn and retreat across the drawing room to practice her entry again, though, the doors opened behind her.

"Mama? Mary? What are you doing?"

Eight-year-old Ally stood framed in the doorway, confusion, curiosity and boredom written all over her delicate features.

"Ah, Ally, darling," Cora turned to face her, her face melting into the soft, loving gaze she always used on her youngest daughter, "I'm just teaching Mary how to curtsy to the King and Queen for her presentation in May. Would you like to watch?"

"Presentation to the King and Queen?" Ally's eyes lit up, "Will I get to go?"

Cora laughed, "No, Ally. Not this time. It's a special day for Mary, so Papa and I will take her up to London with us and you'll stay here with Edith and Sybil. And Ned when he gets home from Eton."

Ally's face clouded, "But I'm named for the Queen!" she wailed, "I should get to meet her too!"

"And you will," Cora promised, crossing the room to ruffle the little girl's dark curls affectionately, "Just not this time. You have to be quite a bit older before you can make your curtsy to the King and Queen. But you'll have your turn, I promise. Now, do you want to watch Mary practise or not?"

"I suppose so," Not used to being refused anything, particularly not by her mother, and certainly not used to being laughed at, Ally pouted, and sat herself in the corner against the bookcase to watch Mary practise.

It was interesting at first, seeing how her usually so elegant elder sister struggled with the length of her train, her veil and the ostrich plumes, but Ally, as her long-suffering governess often bemoaned, was not a child blessed with a long concentration span. Bored and cross at the fact that her mother was ignoring her, she soon began squirming and pointing, giggling whenever Mary wavered.

Eventually, the eighteen-year-old could take having her concentration disturbed no longer.

"What are you even _doing _here, Ally? Don't you have lessons to be getting on with? I'm sure you've run away from Fräulein Kelder again, haven't you?"

Normally, Mary would have known better than to snap at her baby sister like that, particularly when the latter was clearly bored and spoiling for a fight, but frustration and nerves overrode her self-control. Ally went scarlet.

"So what if I have? It's not like you and Edith didn't do it!"

"Well, at least go and play somewhere else. I need to concentrate!"

"Don't want to!" Ally tossed her head, her dark curls flying, "You can't tell me what to do!"

"Oh, stop being such a baby! Do as you're told for once in your life!"

The two dark-haired, dark-eyed beauties stared at one another for several long moments, the air crackling between them. Cora moved to intervene, but she was a second too late.

Ally stuck her tongue out at Mary, "I'd rather be a baby than look as silly as you. You look like a Red Indian with those feathers in your hair!"

"Ally!" Even Cora couldn't allow such rudeness to go unchallenged. She exclaimed at her youngest, but it was Mary who moved fastest.

"_Crack!" _Her palm ricocheted off her younger sister's cheek. The sound reverberated around the drawing room. Ally's skin reddened almost as fast as her eyes filled with injured tears.

"Mama!" she wailed, "Mary hit me!"

"Oh Mama, don't baby her now! She deserved it and you know she did!"

Frozen in shock, with both her daughters appealing to her, Cora managed to do nothing but gulp like a fish for a few seconds.

Not immediately leaping to her defence was clearly a cardinal sin in Ally's eyes, for she spun round and ran, screaming, "I hate you! I hate you both!" over her shoulder as she went.

* * *

_Queen Charlotte's Ball_

_London, May 1909_

"Lady Merton, presenting the Lady Mary Crawley!"

The doors swung open and Mary took a deep breath. She held her head high as she followed her godfather's wife down the length of the ballroom of St James's Palace. Her face was utterly blank, as though she couldn't hear the surprised whispers that surrounded them. The unhappy marriage of Ada and Richard Grey was common knowledge, as was the fact that Ada had just been diagnosed with galloping consumption. The _ton _was astounded to see Lady Merton exerting herself with such an important duty as presenting a girl to the King, particularly when said girl was the goddaughter of her reviled husband.

"_Honestly," _Mary sneered to herself, "_Do they not know Lady Merton well enough to know that her pride means she'd jump at the chance to present an Earl's daughter, regardless of any circumstances?"_

No sooner had the thought taken root in her mind, however, than she reached the top of the room and everything left her mind save the need to sink to the floor in an utterly perfect curtsy.

She held the obeisance for several seconds before the King bent to her, "You sank a girl, now arise a woman, Lady Mary," he whispered, his breath warm against her skin as he kissed her forehead.

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Mary breathed back, before straightening and turning to curtsy to Queen Alexandra, who stood flanked by her granddaughter, the Princess Maud of Fife, who at sixteen, was two years off making her own debut, and despite herself, couldn't quite hide the envy in her eyes at all the girls, barely older than her, who were making their curtsy to her grandfather and being acclaimed as women for it.

Another few seconds with her head bent, and then she was rising again and stepping backwards carefully, oh so carefully, all the way down the length of the room, until the doors swung shut before her downcast eyes and she could breathe again.

* * *

_Grantham House_

A week after Mary had made her curtsy to King Edward and Queen Alexandra, she stood on the stairs of Grantham House, waiting for her cue to enter the ballroom.

The music swelled to a crescendo and then suddenly died away.

The was the faint ring of silver on crystal and then her father's booming voice, "Ladies and Gentlemen, those of you who are parents will understand what I mean when I say it is with both disbelief and great pride that I have the pleasure of introducing one of London's glittering lights this season, my eldest daughter, the Lady Mary Crawley."

Applause rang out as her father turned to the door of the ballroom, his arm outstretched.

Her ivory silk gown pooling out around her, Mary stepped into the light of the chandeliers, and made a slight curtsy, before taking her father's hand. He pulled her into his side and kissed her, before turning her to face the centre of the ballroom and nudging her forward slightly, as the band struck up one of Strauss's many Waltzes.

To her astonishment, it was Tony Foyle, heir to her father's old Army friend, the Viscount Gillingham, who stepped forward to take her hand.

"Tony! What a pleasant surprise!" she laughed, "What are you doing here?"

"Your father wrote and asked mine if I might open your coming-out ball with you, since Ned is still too young and he rather thought you wouldn't want Tim or Larry Grey." Tony returned her chuckle and bowed at the waist, "Will you dance, Lady Mary?"

"With pleasure, Master Foyle," Mary replied, sliding her hand into his and tipping her head to the correct angle, "After you."

Chuckling yet again – the infuriating man, why was everything she said to him so funny? – he swept her into a turn and, in an instant, every thought in her head was lost except for the pleasure of being eighteen and dancing in the arms of an handsome young man at her first official ball of a London Season.


	8. VIII: Mary's Letter (1909)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a letter arrives from London and Edith and Sybil discuss Mary's possible future.

_July 1909_

Even at fourteen, Sybil was still coltish and boundlessly energetic – so much so, in fact, that her governess often despaired of ever making a proper lady out of her. That warm July day, the summer her parents were in London with Mary, was no exception, for she had bounded out of bed at the crack of dawn and spent two happy hours romping in the garden with her father's golden retrievers, before skipping back indoors through the servant's entrance as she saw the post-boy cycling up the drive. She timed it perfectly, for Barrow was just sorting the post as she entered.

"Anything for me, Barrow?" she laughed, as she cast her wrap off over the banisters and shook her dark curls back out of her eyes.

The footman jumped, and then relaxed as he realised it was only Lady Sybil. It wasn't unusual for her to catch him with the post and ask if there was anything for her. There rarely was – the only girls she was in correspondence with were a couple of Viscount Downton's friends' sisters - but even Barrow wasn't immune to the bright appeal in the third Crawley sister's eyes. He always checked if she asked. Today was no exception. Dipping his head slightly in a mild bow, he sifted the letters, until he found one with a London postmark, addressed in a fine looping script.

"It would seem so, Lady Sybil. And it has a London postmark too," he said, his voice uncharacteristically soft and tinged with the mildest surprise as he held out the thick cream envelope. Oh, he knew it wasn't the done thing to hand the young daughter of the house her letter directly, but what Carson didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

"A London postmark? And addressed to me alone? It must be from Mary! Thank you, Barrow!"

Sybil beamed at him, took the letter and whirled on her heel. As quickly as she'd appeared, she was gone, racing through the hall and up the stairs through the green baize door before anyone could scold her for dallying below stairs.

"Mary's written!" she shouted, as she burst into the schoolroom, startling her governess.

"Lady Sybil! How many times must I tell you! Indoor voice, please!" Fräulein Kelder remonstrated, but neither Sybil nor Edith, who had looked round at once, paid her any heed. They retreated to the window seat and Sybil ripped the envelope open. Fräulein Kelder pursed her lips, but at sixteen and fourteen, Edith and Sybil were too old for her to have a great deal of control over them, particularly not when there was a letter from their eldest sister tempting them away from their work. She knew a lost cause when she saw one, so she said nothing, only fixed the youngest Crawley with a beady eye when she tried to rise to peep at the letter too.

"The letter is for Lady Sybil, Lady Alexandra. You've another ten years before you need to worry about your Season. I'll thank you to pay attention to your own work, please."

Ally pouted, and might have protested, but Edith and Sybil shut her out anyway, drawing the drapes around themselves, so they couldn't be seen as they read Mary's letter.

Another girl might have sneaked off to her bedroom to read the letter in private, but not Sybil. She was too generous. She knew Edith was as eager to hear how Mary's Season was going as she was, so she let her older sister lean on her shoulder to read the letter too.

"She says she's the belle of the season…"

"Well, of course she would, it's Mary… No one's ever as good as her…"

But even Edith couldn't maintain her usual resentful attitude towards Mary for long, not with the lure of a letter full of titbits from _London_ of all places. She accepted the warning glance Sybil bestowed on her peacefully enough and let her younger sister carry on reading.

"But there is one young man she sees everywhere. Alan Lascelles, nephew to the Earl of Harewood….

"He's gone riding with her and Mama in Hyde Park…."

"She saw him at the theatre – Papa took her and Ned to a new play at Drury Lane, when Ned came down from Eton for the weekend…"

"He's called on them twice at Grantham House and danced with her at Mabel Lane Fox's coming-out ball…"

"He's gifted her the sheet music for the new Cyril Scott sonata…"

"Papa likes him – he intends to go to Sandhurst now that he's finished at Oxford, with a view to taking up a commission, and asked all about Papa's days in the Army…"

"He's insisted she call him Tommy. Apparently, all his friends and family do…"

"She's convinced he'll ask for permission to write to her when he leaves, if not more…"

Their voices lapped over one another as their eyes leapt from paragraph to paragraph, picking out each and every detail their usually close-lipped older sister had let slip, their excitement rising with every line.

Eventually, Edith voiced the question they were both wondering.

"Do you think she's serious about him?"

Sybil shrugged, "I've never seen her gush so much. And if he's dining with them and endearing himself to Papa, he's certainly serious about her. He asked her to call him by his nickname, for heaven's sake! If that's not proof that he has intentions, I don't know what is!"

"True," Edith admitted, "But would Papa agree? He's not exactly titled, and we both know Papa has all these visions of a grand match for Mary."

"If we didn't have a brother, probably not. He'd want her to marry Patrick and keep Downton in the family. But Downton will be Ned's one day, and Alan _is_ both nephew to the Earl of Harewood and a budding military man. You know Papa is fond of soldiers."

"It will come down to Mary, won't it?" Edith sighed, "Papa won't force her into a match she's unhappy with. Not his beloved Mary. And by the same token, if Mary sets her cap at Alan Lascelles, she'll have him."

She raised an eyebrow. The words she didn't say – _"It wouldn't be the same for either of us," _– hung in the air between them. Still, for once, there was no real rancour there. Edith and Mary might not get along well, but, two years away from her own Season, Edith was old enough to be excited by the thought of her older sister becoming a bride. If only because it would put some distance between the two of them.

Not so their youngest sister. The moment Fräulein Kelder's back was turned, Ally had leapt up, and ripped the drapes open, glowering down at her older sisters.

"I don't see what you two are getting so gooey-eyed about. She's only met him a few times! It's nothing special!"

Edith and Sybil exchanged glances.

"You're too young to understand these things, Ally," Edith chuckled. Sybil reached out and ruffled her baby sister's hair affectionately, then jumped up, "I'm going to go and write to Mary!"

She ran off to find her writing things, and Edith followed. Swept up in their older sister's excitement, they paid no heed to how their younger sister scowled after them, particularly when Fräulein Kelder came bustling over, clucking disapprovingly.

"Lady Alexandra! It is shockingly rude to interrupt others' conversations!" So saying, she herded the youngest Crawley daughter back to her small white desk, "Now, let me see your work. Why, you haven't done a single sum since we started! That's quite enough wool-gathering. Back to it, please."

Fräulein Kelder clapped her hands, and Ally scowled, "I hate arithmetic. I don't see why I have to learn it!"

Had her parents been home, Ally might well have pushed her chair back and run out of the nursery, seeking shelter from her exasperated governess in the sanctuary of her mother's parlour. Since they weren't, that option wasn't open to her, but even so, as late as the previous winter, she might have thrown herself on the floor, screaming a refusal to learn her sums. Indeed, if her sisters hadn't still been in earshot, she probably would have done. But even Ally was slowly growing up to the point where she was embarrassed by her older, more controlled sisters seeing her kick and scream – though she still had no qualms about the servants seeing such things.

As such, though she threw her governess a black look, she did pick up her pen and begin copying down the sums on the blackboard at the front of the schoolroom – though Fräulein Kelder would later realise that she had simply scribbled the first answer that came into her head to each of them, most of them incorrect, silly guesses, made simply to get the morning's lesson over with. Sybil, meanwhile, re-entered the room with a pile of soft violet notepaper in her hand and sat down at her own desk, beginning to craft an epistle in her head.

"_Dearest darling Mary,_

_What a wonderful gift your letter was this morning…"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Alan Lascelles mentioned is a real person. It's this chap: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alan_Lascelles.
> 
> And as for the play Robert took Mary and Ned to see, I had this one in mind: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Whip_(play). It may be a bit over the top to be suitable for a debutante and her younger brother, but Robert would totally give in if both Mary and Ned begged him hard enough...
> 
> Now, the sharp-eyed amongst you will realise we're getting closer and closer to S1 territory. I certainly have plans to take this through S1 and S2, although, of course, with so many changes already wrought, it'll be a very different world... :)


	9. IX: Mary's Wedding (1911)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Mary travels to the church for her wedding.

_May 1911_

With trembling, tender hands, Cora slid the hairpiece up past Mary's temple, tucking the ends into the complex braided bun her eldest had chosen to have her dark hair woven into. The cool metal rested over the base of Mary's veil, pinning the yards of lace into place, and the intricate knots of crystals and seed pearls sparkled on her forehead, making it look as though she had a crown of flowers in her hair.

The veil trailed down her back until it met her train, which flowed out from the tightly-cinched sash at her waist, pooling on the floor behind her. As for the bodice, it was tight and neat, pricked with decorative lace that made up images of the Lascelles cross and the Grantham's rearing lion.

Cora felt tears prick her eyes as she stepped back. How had her first-born grown up so quickly?

"Beautiful," she breathed, laying a hand on Mary's cheek for the briefest of instants, "Alan is a very lucky man."

"Tommy, Mama. You know he prefers Tommy," Mary rolled her eyes, hiding her nerves behind a mask of playful irritation. But, for once, she reached up and covered her mother's hand with her own. Their eyes met, and, in that moment, their shared gaze was worth a thousand words.

A muffled clock chimed somewhere down below, and Cora knew that was her cue to go. She nodded, kissed Mary's cheek one last time and slipped from the room.

Mary checked her appearance in the mirror one last time and then followed.

By the time she reached the bottom of the stairs, her mother was nowhere to be seen. Instead, her father, Sybil and Carson stood in the hall, waiting for her.

Sybil gasped audibly as Mary paused on the broader step by the turn of the banisters, hands clasped, but for once, Mary paid her little sister no heed. Nor did she look at her father. Instead, she drew in a deep breath and looked across at the tall, impassive man a few paces away.

"Will I do, Carson?" she asked gently.

There was a moment of silence. The butler's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard.

"Very nicely, My Lady," he said at last, his gravelly voice unusually thick.

Mary waited a moment, but when no more was forthcoming, she nodded, almost imperceptibly and glanced at Sybil.

Reading her cue, Sybil leapt forward and placed a bouquet of freesias surrounding deep blue irises into Mary's hands.

Photographs were taken, and then Mary turned her head and looked to her father.

Like Carson and Cora before him, Robert had to swallow hard as he offered Mary his arm. He could hardly believe this vision of beauty was his eldest daughter. Where had the last twenty years gone?

"Lady Mary Crawley," he said quietly, as she slid her hand into his so he could help her down the last few steps and escort her out to the waiting landau, "My darling, darling daughter."

The sun shone, the bells rang, the village children screamed and cheered, running alongside the carriage to shower Mary in flower petals until it almost looked like it was snowing around her. The whole of Downton itself seemed to be putting its best foot forward to honour Mary on her wedding day.

And then, after a ride that was both interminably long and unbelievably short, they arrived at the village church. The church in which every generation of Crawleys had been christened, married and, when appropriate, buried.

Lynch drew rein, and Robert got out. He glanced into the church, noting with satisfaction that Alan was in place, clean-shaven and crisp in the dark blue uniform of his regiment, the Bedfordshire Yeomanry. He was too far away to tell, but he had no doubt the young man was pale with nerves. He'd certainly been pale and sick at his own wedding to Cora, all those years ago.

He looked back to Mary, "Are you ready, my darling? Are you sure about this?"

"Yes, Papa." Mary returned softly, handing her bouquet to Sybil as she prepared to disembark from the landau – the landau with the Crawley arms emblazoned on the door, the one they only ever used on very special occasions.

Despite himself, Robert hesitated before holding out his hand to help her down. These were the last few moments Mary would be his little girl. He couldn't bring himself to end them.

But everyone was watching. Everyone was waiting. And Mary had said she was sure.

"Lady Mary Crawley," he said solemnly, dipping his head to her in a half-bow.

"Mary Lascelles," she murmured in response, sliding her hand into his.

As her feet hit the ground and she took her bouquet back from Sybil, the band struck up the wedding march.

Robert steeled himself and turned to face the church once more. Turned to escort his eldest daughter down the aisle on her wedding day.


	10. Patrick's Proposal (1912)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Patrick proposes to Edith

_February 1912_

“Patrick, please!” Edith begged laughingly, as her cousin tugged her forward through the grass, his broad tie wrapped around her eyes and flapping in the brisk Yorkshire wind behind her, effectively blinding her, “I’ve played along. Just tell me what this is all about!”

“Just a little further, Edith, I promise. You’re going to love it. Honest!” Patrick returned.

Edith huffed but kept silent for a few moments, stumbling down the slope after her cousin until Patrick stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.

“All right, stand here. But don’t take the blindfold off yet. Give me a moment.”

Edith waited, her impatience growing with every second. Eventually, after what felt like an eternity, Patrick hummed.

“All right. You can take the blindfold off now.”

Heart pounding, Edith fumbled with the knot. Whipping the tie away triumphantly, she opened her eyes to a breath-taking sight.

She stood in a sheltered wooded dell, one she and her siblings had often played in as children. When they’d played in it, it had been warm late spring, and the ground beneath their feet had been carpeted with bluebells. It being February, the bluebells were nowhere near out, but they had been replaced by snowdrops. Every inch of the ground was covered with snowdrops, as far as the eye could see.

And in the midst of them knelt Patrick, a gleaming ring in the palm of his hand.

Edith gasped. Her hand flew to her mouth. Patrick heard the intake of breath, but seemed to pay it no heed, only raising his head to look her square in the eye.

“Lady Edith Martha Crawley, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?”

It was a simple question, with a simple answer.

Edith felt her heart leap, felt her head bobbing eagerly, long before she’d even formed the words.

“Yes! Oh, Patrick, yes!”

She sprang towards him, laughter bubbling up inside her, as he caught her and slid the ring onto her finger almost in the same movement. Then he lifted her off her feet and kissed her full on the mouth in celebration.

It was several long seconds before they broke apart, and Edith could finally focus her attention on the engagement ring – _the engagement ring! –_ she was now wearing.

It wasn’t your typical engagement ring, but Edith adored it all the more for its unconventionality. It was a narrow band of white gold, set with seven gems in a row. Four rubies, three diamonds. Rubies. Edith felt warm that Patrick had remembered. She’d told him once, back when they were just children, that rubies were her favourite gemstone, because their deep red colour made her think of love.

“Rubies are my favourite,” she said quietly, looking up at him, eyes sparkling almost as much as the jewels.

“I know,” Patrick replied, his voice gleaming with confidence. He kissed her again and then pulled back to look her in the face.

“I’ve spoken to your father. He’s agreed that we can get married in September, after Papa and I get back from America. What would you say to getting married on your birthday?”

“Whatever you think,” Edith was too happy to think of the details right then. All she cared about was that she was in Patrick’s arms. In Patrick’s arms with his ring on her finger.

Patrick huffed in amusement, “I doubt you’ll be saying that when this has had a chance to sink in. You’re a Crawley girl, you’ll be a bride to be reckoned with, I have no doubt. I almost pity your mother, having to arrange two weddings in two years. It’s a good job Sybil and Ally are several years younger.”

He laid his hand on her cheek, “Come on. I had Mrs Patmore pack us some lunch so we could celebrate just the two of us. I’d better get some food into you or you’ll be drunk with happiness.”

He spread a thick woollen blanket on the ground and pulled her down beside him, crushing the flowers beneath them so that they sent up a soft scent that only seemed to add to the magic in the air.

Despite his words, however, the first thing he produced from the basket was a large bottle of champagne.

“Well, she was confident you’d say yes,” he chuckled, before delving further. Egg and cress sandwiches, cold meats, jam tarts, sweet Spanish oranges dipped in dark chocolate… Mrs Patmore had laid on a veritable spread.

Edith, however, was too happy to eat much. She was content to lean against Patrick’s shoulder, letting him feed her the odd piece of chocolate orange or sliver of chicken as he tore into one sandwich after another.

“I was too nervous to eat breakfast,” he confided, after a few minutes, “Though, thinking about it, I don’t know why.” So saying, he popped the cork on the champagne and held it up to her, “We’ve always been good together. To us, darling.”

“To us,” Edith echoed, before throwing caution to the wind, taking the bottle from Patrick and swigging down a large mouthful, just as he had done moments earlier.

Then she set the bottle aside and leaned back against his shoulder again, closing her eyes against the weak February sun. Lulled by the feel of his broad chest against her back, she felt herself slipping into a doze. Her last coherent thought was, “_September can’t come soon enough.”_


End file.
